


Breaking Banana Bread

by nebulaethereal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Community: dramionedrabble, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Food, Friendship, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, Prompt Fic, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-06-29 18:19:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15734847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulaethereal/pseuds/nebulaethereal
Summary: Hermione and Draco may not be friends, but after the war, there's no reason for them to be enemies. This new precarious relationship all hinges on a bunch of bananas and one young wizard in trouble.This started as a sprint with the prompt(s): Bananas + Grocery Store + MCs end up doing something stupid together.





	1. New faces

**Author's Note:**

> EDIT: I have since edited this chapter since there were some VERY OOC moments for Draco that stood out to one reader. 
> 
> M: for later chapters.
> 
> This work was encouraged by my pals in the Discord and those of you who have left love and kudos on my other Dramione fic: Breathe in; Breathe out. 
> 
> Comment below with what you hope to see out of this fic. ;D

Draco was running out of time to shop for groceries, but refused his mother’s advice to have the house elves fetch the ingredients. After all, he was the one making the dish, he didn’t want the house elves dirty hands all over the food, much less attempting to assemble it himself.

The upcoming party was supposed to represent unity within the wizarding world, and everyone in attendance was expected to make something. He knew some people were making décor, or dresses, while others-like himself-were making food.

It would do no good, after such a hectic war, to turn immediately to his house elves to do his duty. They Would be doing the cleaning afterward, anyway.

Besides, he had already been telling everyone that he was going to be cooking something for the party. Everyone was excited—except for those who were mortified.

Hermione was also planning a bit of her own dish for the event, since it was such an important event in the wizarding world. Hand-made goods and food were so important in mending the only recently stitched schism in the world.

She, however, already knew how to cook. Draco didn’t have such an advantage. What made things worse still was that they didn’t expect to run into each other, fighting over the final bunch of bananas.

“Malfoy? What brings you here—?” She was cut off.

“Let go of my bananas, Granger.” He muttered.

His face was already red by the time she replied. “Well, no, Malfoy, I need these for the dinner tomorrow. Why don’t you just go buy some another time?”

He scoffed, his tone resembling the tension that they felt back in school, only a year and a half ago. “Well, Granger, it seems that you don’t really get it… I’m making something for the dinner as well, so… would you kindly--”

It was her turn to interrupt, “I don’t think so! I’m making a bananas custard pie, so…” She tugged at the bunch of bananas. Other witches and wizards in the market were beginning to notice their slight tussle.

“Granger, that’s fine and all, but I need ALL of these bananas for something called Banana pudding…” He nodded to the boxes of vanilla wafers in his cart. “Apparently a few folks coming from the Americas simply adore it…”

There was a stare-down, and before long, they had gathered a small, silent crowd.

They noticed this quickly, and both flushed, letting go of the bananas briskly.

“No, Granger—go ahead, you can have them.” He muttered, gripping the handles of his cart while thinking of where else he could possibly find bananas.

“No-no, Malfoy, you have at them. I’ll just think of a different fruit to use…” Her brow was furrowed with what she could possibly conjure up.

Both seemed keen on using this very muggle way to create something. The thought didn’t cross either of their minds to actually use magic to solve this problem. The pride there—it was far too strong.

“Granger… take the bananas.” He spoke through slightly gritted teeth.

It wasn’t long before their eyes actually met, and her own seared into his. It seemed that, no matter how the war ended—nor how the current state of affairs had turned them into allies—these two were intent on being at each other’s throats.

Some time passed before she began to reach for the bananas, finally caving under the pressure of the moment. In a quick movement, she snapped the bunch in half, taking only some of the bananas and setting them in her cart.

“There… problem solved.” She nodded smugly.

His hand hit his face, dragging down his matured, scarred, and devilish features. “That may be all good and well for you, Granger, but I need the entire bunch.”

Her face screwed up into a quizzical one. As her hand came up to her chin to consider their options, weigh the variables, and solve the problem, there was a loud bang from the front of the store.

People were running already, ducking and hiding from whatever caused the sound, and leaving groceries scattered about the place. In a flash, there was _fiendfyre_ licking at the ceiling of the grocer, sending people fleeing out of fire exits toward the back.

Although the banana situation hadn’t been solved, the pair turned quickly to the front of the store, seeing the offending wizard. They looked like a young wizard, who was making a run for the ladders leading up to the roof access.

It didn’t take more than a second for Hermione to brandish her wand, catch sight of the wizard, and rush after him; but not before dousing the fires in the store with a gush of water.

Draco quickly reached out, trying to stop her from rushing into an obviously dangerous situation. Soon remembering who he was dealing with, he merely shook his head and rushed after her in hopes of talking her down from the ladder which she was already scaling.

On the roof, there was no sight of Hermione or the would-be pyromaniac.

He looked left, right, and around the corner before finding the two figures. They stood on the edge of the building, having a stare down.

The moment was tense. Hermione’s hair was standing a bit to attention, from the look of it, it was a visible manifestation of her magic. The set of her features was soft, and it dawned upon Draco that this situation was beyond a mere attack: she was talking this young wizard down.

She saw Draco from the corner of her eye, approaching the situation slowly, no wand in sight.

“What’s your name?” She asked the figure, clad in a large black cloak, similar to those found in a Halloween shop, but far too large for their form.

“Stop it, Hermione Granger…”

She frowned a bit, hoping that this kid wouldn’t have discovered who she was so quickly.

The teen went on: “Yea, I know who you are. You and Draco Malfoy think you’re so great… you don’t know what it’s like to be a teen in the wizarding world these days…”

The teen began to pace along the edge of the building’s ledge.

“So, there’s nothing we can say, right?” Draco offered, stepping to stand next to Hermione, but at such an angle that he could flee if an attack proved possible.

“…let me finish!” The teen shouted, hands balling into fists.

“You two… you’re not much older than me… but look at you… Acting like the world is normal and that you’re just allowed to grow up…” The teen paced some more, wand in hand.

Hermione and Draco exchanged glances, attempting to read each other’s reactions. Draco managed to glean from her with a bit of legilimancy: she wanted to save this teen. Of course, typical Gryffindor. He sneered at her slightly, turning away from her.

“What do you mean?” She asked, tucking her wand away slowly.

“Have you even SEEN what it’s like at Hogwarts now? It’s… so stupid! They don’t even use the Sorting Hat anymore since they want people to be able to make their own choices… As a show of like—some stupid thing!” The teen was failing with words, and paced more, embarrassedly.

“I heard about that…” Draco offered, hands tucking into his pockets as he stepped forward toward the ledge. “I think it’s important. Making choices like where you belong… It can change your life.” He offered, glancing briefly at Hermione, who was inching closer still.

“Yea? I’m sure you’d say so… everyone calls YOU a blood-traitor, you know!” The teen spat.

Draco shrugged.

“And you… Hermione Granger… You know what they call you?” The teen seethed, seemingly crying through the words.

Hermione and Draco both tensed at what was to come.

“They call you a ‘hero’… really? You’re the reason why I was dragged to Hogwarts! Nobody asked if I wanted to be a wizard! I was just… normal. And now I’m this!” The teen was exasperated.

“What do you mean I’m the reason…” Hermione trailed off, before realizing what was happening. “You mean, you were forced to begin schooling under the law I helped draft…”

The teen nodded, scoffing under the hood.

She looked at Draco, who squinted some, confused. She explained, “It was supposed to prevent muggle parents from holding their children back.”

“So, you’re… muggle-born?” She asked gently, tilting her head.

“And you don’t want to be a wizard?” Draco added.

The teen slumped, merely shaking his head.

“I never thought… Why don’t you want to be a wizard?” Hermione asked.

“I mean, it was fine at first… then this war started, and… I just hate it. I lost so many friends! I wish I had never come!”

The teen made a move, turning away from them as if to jump at any moment.

Hermione shuffled her feet closer, Draco slowly following suit, hesitant.

Why was he being a hero now… dragged into a stupid situation by Granger, of all people.

The wind was blowing against their backs, daring the teen toward demise.

“I guess it’s just… all so stupid…” The teen muttered.

“You’re right…” Draco suddenly spoke. The young wizard came to turn around some, slowly stepping off of the edge toward them. The tension settled slightly.

“I mean, plenty of unfortunate events took place, and I’ll admit, I was a big part of that.” Draco loosened his posture.

“And this bloody war, it should never have started in the first place. But really, the things you detest about Hogwarts now are all put in place to prevent that from happening again.” Draco went on.

Hermione found herself staring at Draco. He sounded so very… understanding. His features were even, soft, talking to the shorter wizard like a father to a child. She appreciated this, taking note that she should let him have the bunch of bananas after all of this was over.

“Yea… I know… I just worry that, what if I’m in the wrong house? What if I am making the wrong choices?” The panic in the boy’s voice was more child-like now, and he took some steps toward Draco and Hermione, when an awful creak was heard.

Something to do with the integrity of the structure of the building, having been compromised by the fire—the roof gave out beneath the teen’s feet.

As he began to fall, Hermione was the first to leap forward, grabbing the hands of boy, belly-flopping on the in-tact edge of the roof to hold on. She surely should have been falling with the boy, if it hadn’t been for the strong grip of Draco’s hands on her hips, holding them still.

The hood of the cloak fell back, revealing the face of a semi-familiar 5th-year student, thankful for the saving.


	2. Cooking Compromises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment with any con-crit or future ideas! This is really a drabble, but I'm enjoying it!

The situation at the grocer was a matter of life and death—and everyone had come out unscathed, save for a few scrapes here and there. Not to mention the peach blouse that Hermione was wearing had turned into a bit of a mess.

Back on ground-level, everyone was talking. The young wizard’s parents had been called in from work, and Hermione as well as Draco were lingering to see that he was sent off properly.

After a slight scolding from his parents, the young man came toward the two famous wizards, a bit crestfallen.

“Thank you. Both of you. I don’t know what I was thinking, but you’re right. I just need to… stick it out.” He spoke, staring at his feet.

“Oh, it’s fine!” Hermione gripped the young man’s shoulder kindly. “As a matter of fact, how about you be my plus-one tomorrow night, at the Wizarding Gala? It’s supposed to be a truly grand event.” She beamed down at him.

He looked up at her, a bit confused at first. “I’ll have to ask my parents, but—I ‘d like that.” There was a look in his eye that Hermione was ignorant to, while Draco could only chuckle. He’d seen that look in plenty of teenage boy’s face.

Stepping forward as the boy went back to his parents, Draco waited for Hermione’s attention. “I’ll owl you, Stephen!” She shouted with a wave.

Turning back toward the half-ruined grocery, slowly being repaired by magic via the wizard and witch employees, Hermione was startled to see Draco so close.

She took a step back, chuckling. “Sorry—Draco, I think you should have those bananas,” she suddenly spouted.

He frowned, once again confused, “what are you talking about, Granger?” His arms crossed over his black turtleneck.

“The bananas we were fighting over before saving that boy? Those?” She pointed toward the produce, where the lone, split bunch of bananas lay, still, waiting.

“Ah, I see. I’ve already concluded about the bananas, Granger.” He squinted down to her, briefly noticing the small tears and holes in the stomach of her blouse. Pity, it was a nice blouse.

“We will share the bananas.” He nodded with finality, but before she could speak, he raised a finger.

“But, I cannot make my recipe with so few bananas, and I will not have you show me up by making a better dessert than I possibly can. So… How about we work together to make something?”

With a moment of reluctance, she furrowed her brow, hands coming to rest on her hips, reflexively.

“I don’t understand… Just make a smaller portion, Malfoy.” Her insistence was marred by an air of curiosity. Why would Malfoy actually suggest working with her on something seemingly so important.

He looked to his watch, an began walking over to the bananas, taking them in hand. “I’ll pay for them. If you would kindly meet me back at the Manor by, say, eight o-clock? We should get started tonight if we want to get this right.”

As he walked past her to pay for the fruit, she frowned, and then her face twisted into a look of ‘what-the-heck-just-happened’. Before she had a chance to turn and question him further, he was gone.

She was banana-less and now had to wait four hours until she could get to the bottom of this. She had half a mind to go searching for more bananas, surely there would be grocery stores around with them. But, surely, Malfoy would have thought the same thing. So, why hadn’t he suggested they just find more? The frenzy of implications created an anxious atmosphere around her the rest of the day.

To kill time, she’d go by the office and retrieve a few documents necessary for some weekend-work. She wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘homework’, but that didn’t stop Harry or Ron.

“So, packing up your homework for the weekend?” The dark-haired wizard asked from the doorway in the Ministry of Magic. His auror robes hung loosely about himself, quite casually really.

“Harry, did you get the paperwork I sent you about last week’s—”

“Yes. Join me and Gin for dinner?” He interrupted.

“Sure, but did you get BOTH copies? I didn’t want you to send—”

“Three copies actually; should we do seafood?” He countered.

“Yes, Donavan’s place—But Harry, were there any documents relevant for the case that I should look over during the weekend?”

Silence engulfed them. They stared at one another. Hermione’s face, attentive and studious—Harry’s face holding a growing, teasing smirk.

He walked over, hoisted her gently by the neck of her robe, and dragged her out of the office, and not without protest. “Let’s go, Granger, or I’ll take fifty points from Gryffindor for staying in the office after hours.”

They left, finally, laughing together and towing their bags.

Donavan’s was a great pub for fish and chips, although it wasn’t a ‘seafood place’, it had fish. That was enough to satiate everyone’s desire for the deep blue.

Ginny already changed from her Quidditch gear, hoisting her bag alongside as she sat next to her already-seated husband. Watching Ginny and Harry cozy up made Hermione smile, admiring their love.

“So—about the party” Ginny spoke between chews “I think I should make a sky-writing that says” she chewed some more “’Wizards Unite, Once and For All’.” She nodded to Harry, who approved. She looked to Hermione, eyebrows raised for approval.

“Well, it sounds like a fine idea, just don’t choke while you tell us about it, Gin… You look like Ron!”

They laughed, and Ginny defended herself: “Well, Hermione Granger, I just so happen to be famished! It’s a lot of work, Quidditch.” She went back to eating, playfully glaring at Hermione.

“Oy, who looks like me, now?” A man’s voice came from behind, as Ron approached.

“Well, speak of the devil, if it isn’t the human garbage-disposal himself!” Ginny shouted toward her brother as he greeted Hermione with a hug.

They all sat back down and started outlining who would be making what for the party.

At not point did Hermione think to mention that day at the grocery store. Furthermore, she didn’t know how to explain that she was going to be doing some baking with Draco Malfoy.

They couldn’t possibly understand something that she barely had time to mull over. The evening wore on, and as the sun set, she made her


	3. Malfoys Reinventing the Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little did we all know, the Malfoys weren't all dark-- but a bit sweet, too!

Hermione was absent-mindedly braiding a bit of her hair as she waited in front of the floo. Perhaps she wasn’t really ‘waiting’ so much as debating. She tapped her slippered foot.

Why did she need to go to Malfoy’s? She could have merely decided on a different recipe and stood him up. ‘Stood him up…’ That sounded so odd in this scenario. Maybe the better phrase would be ‘refused’.

The implications of the night were dawning upon her. Was she really even considering going over to Malfoy’s manor to cook with him? She quickly stepped to the kitchen.

“I have… apricots, and a pineapple! I could make plenty of delicious things…” She spoke to nobody but possibly the sleeping Crookshanks on the counter.

“Right, you’re right. The banana recipe is already anticipated by Ron and Harry.” She shook her head, wandering back over to the fireplace.

“I bet he didn’t even connect our floos… I’ll just give it a try and then we’ll see just whom the joke is on.” She muttered, half-heartedly tossing some floo powder into the hole.

With a _whoosh_ she was off. She stumbled out of the fireplace like a novice, nearly falling on her face upon the floor of the manor.

With utter shock and surprise, she stood up, dusting herself off. With snap judgement, she turned back to the fireplace and reached for another handful of powder, only to hear a voice from behind.

“Ah, Granger, shall we get started?” The semi-sarcastic voice echoed down the hallway.

“I just… thought that I forgot something.” She turned confidently toward him and smiled, patting her purse, “but I believe all I need is in here, actually.”

Somehow, Malfoy didn’t notice her shoes, and there was a moment of relief before the chuckle came.

“Nice shoes, by the way…” He muttered, before disappearing into the kitchen.

She noticed his gorgeous dress shoes, sneering a bit after him and slowly trudging toward the kitchen.

Although she’d been in a few commercial kitchens before, during a few chase-scenes in her warrific past, she hadn’t expected just how nice of a cooking space his manor might have.

On the left there were two sets of French doors, leading toward the patio outside, fit to entertain the Queen. On the right, a long countertop was furnished with all of the possible accoutrements, from a stove and sink, to a high-end blender and mixer.

She began to wonder just how often they entertained in such high numbers to warrant these appliances. She let that thought fall to the way-side as she took in the rest of the kitchen. Between the stovetop and patio, there was a gorgeous and huge island, crowned with a gorgeous array of cooking cutlery and shelving.

Everything seemed spotless. Instead of debating the implications of such a clean kitchen, she began to feel ashamed about her own.

Hers was ‘lived in’ though, so nobody could fault her for that, certainly. Malfoy was talking. She thought about the size of her kitchen compared to the immense space before her, threatening to swallow her up.

“—the last time we had to cook for hundreds. Well, not ‘we’, per se, but our caterers.” He finished something that Hermione only half-heard.

“What?” She asked, brow furrowed already, face flushing. She should have been listening. She was certainly an awful guest.

“Well, for once Granger isn’t taking notes, much less listening to the teacher.” He shook his head, smirking slightly once more before turning to a large book on the counter-top.

In a moment, she was nearby, attempting to peer over his shoulder and squinting to see the text.

“You have caterers? I thought the elves—”

“Of course, we have caterers, do you really think that the house elves know a thing about cuisine? Much less, have the ability to reach the counter tops?” He scoffed, cringing at the thought of house-elf cooking.

She noticed there were none to be seen, now that she thought about it. She had walked a good 100 feet in this house and not noticed a one.

“Where are they all? The elves, I mean…”

“Hm… They must be asleep, I think it’s after their work hours anyway,” he trailed off, rubbing along the back of his head and adjusting his collar, the top two buttons having long been un-cinched.

“What? Work hours… did you really _employ_ your house elves, Malfoy?” She was dumbfounded.

“Yes—”

“I can’t believe it! I would have guessed you and your parents would have been too stubborn to give them a job, much less release them from their servitude!”

“Yes, well—” He attempted

She chuckled, hand on the hip, “well, I never… That’s very… _cool_ of you, Malfoy, I must say.”

He turned to face her, having grown tired of being interrupted. His jaw was set tightly, although he feigned a polite smile. “Shall we get on with the cooking, then?” He pressed, turning back tersely.

“Of course… So why is it that you just _can’t_ cook something other than a banana dish, hmm? I mean, I know my reasons, but would love to know yours.” She leaned on the counter, still attempting to peek at the recipe book which seemed more like a mystical tome than anything culinary in nature.

“Well, let’s just say that there are a few traditions that my family has yet to discontinue. This is one of them. It’s been a while since it’s seen the light of day, since there hasn’t been much celebration in recent memory, but here we are. My greatest of ancestors’ most prized recipe: ‘banana’s biscuits and boudin’. Most commonly known, now, as ‘banana pudding’. Like I mentioned earlier, it’s a real hit in the Americas.”

He seemed a bit proud of this recipe, and she tilted her head curiously to duck a look at him. He seemed to notice from the corner of his eye and she stepped back.

“What about you, Granger?” He offered, pretending to pore over the book.

“Well, I had already told Harry and Ron, and I can’t just get their hopes up, can I?” She looked over his shoulder, leaning back against the island.

“Why am I here, Malfoy?” She suddenly asked.

“Well, you can leave, I mean—”

“You know what I mean, there were plenty of other options for this predicament, so why this one?” She pressed.

“I bet you can guess.” He turned to her, mimicking her positioning against the counter behind him.

“Guess? Well my first instinct was that this was a prank. And then, the floo worked. My second instinct? A more elaborate prank that involves me being cooked into your dessert,” she half-joked.

“I’m trying to get top-marks, and who better to help me than the brightest witch of her age?” He flourished his hand, complimenting her boldly.

She flushed, squinting. “That’s… hard to believe. But, I suppose there’s no reason to expect you to do anything to be the best at something.”

The backhanded compliment didn’t go unheard. He cleared his throat. He chose to ignore it.

“Let’s get started on this pudding, then, shall we?” She saw him reach for a nearby apron, don it, and roll up his sleeves.

“Oh, I’m not making pudding.” She crossed over to him, tugging a second apron and tying it about her waist in a way that oddly flattered her figure.

“We’re making something new.” She suddenly offered, pulling out a roll of parchment with the most ingenious of franken-desserts.


	4. Ingredients: butterflies

Somehow, in all of this confusion—Granger had managed to end up in front again.

“So… how did you know to think of a hybrid dessert?” He was looking through the small notebook which outlined the methodology and working definitions for the dessert they were to attempt.

“Well, can’t be too prepared with a Malfoy involved, can I?” She offered rather matter-of-factly, merely looking over his own recipe. “We’ll need to change a few of my notes… so it better suits your flavor profile.” She worried her lip, resting her thumb against it smartly.

Draco noticed. He calmed stared at her while she did this, not taking in any information beyond the visual stimulation.

“Should probably half these ingredients… but double this one…” She took notes on a nearby parchment, ‘acking’ at the sight of slightly smudged ink. She glanced up, hoping he didn’t notice the ink on the granite countertops.

He didn’t notice, that she was sure of. About to look away from him, she stopped short—frowning in his direction. “What are you looking at me like that for?” She was entirely caught off guard, unable to tell what he was looking at. She even looked behind herself for good measure to see if she had missed something.

His face coolly meandered from her lips, to her eyes, to her gaze, to her hair, to the air over her head, to the pots and pan along the top of the range.

He looked back at her, feigning confusion, “What? What do you mean, Granger?” His long, lithe fingers were trailing her notebook in a manner that was all-too interesting to her.

Her eyes remained on his hand, and she did her best to shove worry out of her mind—why would he look her way like that? She attempted to, discreetly, check her teeth and finger-comb her hair.

“Nevermind… Did you see anything in there that you think we need to change?” She nodded toward his hands.

He picked the notebook up and rested his backside on the countertop, nose in the book now.

“Well… I’ve circled a few things,” he pointed a few things out, and did that thing where he licked his finger before going to the next page.

She took his time to check her hair in a reflection, as well as see if there was something amiss on her face. Finding nothing, she merely looked back in his direction, becoming rather entranced by is method of turning pages.

He was suddenly walking, and she was following behind curiously. “Where are we going?” she asked noticing him taking the notebook as well.

“Ingredients,” he supplied.

Finally, they had arrived across the kitchen at a large open pantry, full of ingredients, including their bananas.

“And to think… you didn’t have a single banana,” She trailed off, looking around at the various, an exotic, ingredients.

He tore out a back page of her notebook, making her cringe momentarily. He handed that sliver of paper to her.

“Here, you grab these ingredients, and I’ll grab the rest, meet you back at the counter.”

And the races were off. She was about, grabbing for her ingredients, and him for his.

On several occasions, they nearly ran right into each other—only to steer a different direction. But, on one interesting fluke, they both reached for the bananas. She glared in his direction: “Again, Malfoy…?”

She caught him smile, and even a deep chuckle erupted from his throat for a split second. Her eyes widened at the surreal exchange as he removed his hand from the bunch. She gathered them up, watching him move away, off, and out of the pantry with a smirk.

It was nearly a century later that she finally followed after him, leaving foreign, heady thoughts in her wake. They had cake to make. Or bread to break. Or… something to do with bananas, surely!


	5. Dessert fit for children

Hermione and Draco had been standing on their respective sides of the island for the better half of an hour. The sun had set long ago, and the moonlight dared creep in through the French doors. Every once in a while, someone entered the kitchen to see what was going on-- only to leave soon thereafter. Hermione could have sworn that she even saw Lucius' head pop in momentarily. 

"So... once we've let this proof, we can fold in the boudin and bake it off." Hermione said confidently. "OH! But wait!" She was suddenly scrambling around the kitchen in search of something. "I thought that I saw one... around here..." She muttered. 

"What are you even looking for?" Draco mused, following her around with his gaze. Her frenzied search was something like a rabbit or ferret with a case of the crazies. Something cute, he decided. She looked like some possibly cute kind of animal. He left it at that.

"Do you know what those tiny baking tins are?" She stood, staring at him and attempting to motion the shape with her hands. 

They had both been so engrossed by the task at hand that he hadn't noticed how her hair was now half up and half down, dangling in her face and making it a bit of a game of seeing her eyes. 

"Um... I think I might?" He walked over to her, crouching down in tandem with her to peer into the huge cupboard beneath the counter. They squatted, both peering and shuffling through the pots and pans there. 

"I think if we have one, it will be... right... Aha!" He exclaimed, reaching deeply into the cupboard. She stood up again to wait for him to retrieve it-- finding it rather comical seeing him shoulder-deep in the wooden cupboard. She could have sworn she saw his tongue dart out against his teeth in focus. 

"There we are." He huffed, pulling out a butter-dish-sized baking dish and standing up quickly enough that his head conked a dangling pot. He recoiled in embarrassment and startle. 

Hermione reflexively reached to touch his head-- but as soon as she made contact, she recoiled with a chuckle. Instead, she reached for the tiny pan, gently taking it from his hands. 

"Are you okay?" She stifled a little laugh. 

"Well, I'll find out tonight, if I die in my sleep from brain hemorrhage, won't I?" He huffed dramatically, walking back to their station. 

Once more she had to stifle a chuckle, and followed him once more. 

"Now, we'll just put a little bit of the dough in here... let them rest together, and once they are all baked up, we can taste our own tiny version. For quality-check, of course." She winked at him subconsciously, before her hands went to her hips, proud.

"Well, we've nearly done it, Malfoy!" She reached up, positioning herself for a high-five. When none came, she had the displeasure of looking up and seeing him staring at her hand confusedly. 

"Granger...?" He asked, quirking a brow. 

"Well... it's a high-five. Surely you know what one is? I know you're a high-born wizard and whatnot, but. High-five?" She noticed a glint in his eyes and nearly pouted. 

Before she could proselytize him for not knowing the basics of being a Millennial, he suddenly granted her a high-five, surprising her. It actually hurt.

"Ow! Good lord, do you NEED to do it so hard?" She gripped her hand with a chuckle, shaking her head. 

"Haha! Well, Granger, I bet nobody's heard you say that before." He smirked, "other than Weasley, of course." 

She was taken aback. Still smirking, she looked his way again, shaking her head. "Um, nobody has heard me say that, thank you very much." She defended, suddenly on the move toward the French doors. 

He felt that was a win, but as she moved away, he couldn't help but follow after. Who was really wielding the upper hand in this mini-GBBS (Great British Baking Show)? 

Without much knowledge in the ways of soothing a Granger, he merely followed after her, through the doors she opened, and spoke casually. "Oh? Doth the lady protest too much?" 

He was checking his nails as she turned toward him, scoffing. "Doth the gentleman inquire too much?" She squinted in his direction, trying to decide what he was after. 

"What?... What do you mean... Me? A Gentleman? How kind--" He said breathlessly, before being cut off.

"I swear, the moment we don't have our hands in some flour, they're at each other's throats." She noted, turning away from him again to take in the grandness of the garden around them. 

He stepped up beside her a pace or two away. Though they faced the garden, his eyes snuck plenty of glances down the slope of his nose to look her over. "Mother makes sure to keep the garden in order. All of the flowers are unique... she insists on finding a plant from every place she visits." 

"It's huge," she commented, getting on her tip-toes to try and see the entire expanse. She heard him chuckle childishly. Her eyes shot to him once more. "Really? What are you, a first year?" She didn't get it. Why was he acting so... childishly?

"Hey, I wasn't going to say anything, but, well, you said it. And to me, of all people. Don't worry, I won't tell your boyfriend." He winked, before teasingly looking away from her in that way beautiful people do.

"What boyfriend?" She was a bit exasperated, tilting her head, "do you know something I don't? Or do you really think that Ron and I just ended up together like some movie? Dating friends is honestly the worst idea, I find." There was a defensiveness rising in her voice. "Not that you'd know, Malfoy."

He frowned, looking her way a bit. "I've never dated a friend. What are you on about?" He sat down in a nearby patio chaise, legs crossing in a European fashion.

She took advantage of standing over him for once.

"Right... and you were busy not-dating everyone in Slytherin, is that right?" She crossed her arms, cocking her hip out slightly. 

Refusing to answer, he merely smirked. "You've got batter in your hair." He pointed out.

After a moment of trying to find it, he sighed. "No... just there. No... left. No-- Christ, Granger." 

He stood up and approached her. She took a step back. He stopped, taking a step back as well. "I'm.. I'm not going to hurt you--" He frowned down at her, slowly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wetting it in a bit of water from a nearby fountain. He held it out to her. "I'll let you do the honors." He offered.

She took the cloth, gripping its monogrammed edge, and began trying to clean the gunk out of her hair.

"I believe that's the alarm." He said, quickly heading inside to their baking.

She couldn't help but feel like there was a sudden shift in mood. 

She started in after him, watching him assemble what was needed for the 'pudding' aspect of the bake. 

"So we just fold this in and divvy it up so that there's a bit for the tiny pan, right?" He asked, not looking up at her as he rolled his sleeves up a bit higher than originally.

"Right, here, I'll get the small pan together." She offered, adopting his tone and terseness.

They slid their bakes into the oven, the tiny one a bit forward since it wouldn't take even half as long. She set a timer. 

"If it's alright with you, I might just nip a bit of whiskey." He didn't really ask, pulling the bottle from a cupboard along with a heavy-bottom glass.

"I'm fine with that... Just know that I prefer a bourbon." She offered, still playing it cool with him, since it seemed that he was intent on doing the same.

Though she was playing it cool indeed, she couldn't tell just what had happened on the porch.

She sipped her whiskey casually.

He sipped his just as casually. 

They sipped in silence. At some point, they had finished their whiskey, topping it off. There was still plenty of bake-time left, after all.

The bit of a buzz loosened her inhibitions. "So what’s got your wand in a knot?" She asked, head tilted his way.

"I don't follow," he replied, idly fiddling with a nearby ladle.

"You just seem so... tense now." She shrugged, setting her glass down.

"Because I'm quiet? I didn't think you agreed to this arrangement because of my great conversation skills." He supplied. He watched her reach for the handkerchief he had given her. 

She began to tug and wipe at the batter in her hair, sighing a bit. "That's true." She noticed her train of thought was dwindling. The silence supported that fact.

"Are you afraid of me?" He asked, and almost as suddenly regretted. 

Before he could obliviate her, she chuckled. "What?" 

He could hear the nervousness behind that chuckle. "Nevermind." He turned to the oven, crouching down to peer in, as if it would be done 40 minutes early.

"I mean, I used to be. Well, I guess I was more afraid of what you were." She offered, walking to the sink to wet the cloth in her hand. "But you? I don't think so." She managed to remove all visible traces of the batter from her hair finally. 

"I see." He nodded with finality, insisting to himself that this conversation was over.

"Why did you ask?" She continued the conversation, and even after he had ended it. The nerve. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck with aggravation. 

"Well, out on the porch. You seemed scared." He was currently searching for a cloth to dust himself off with, having found flour gathered in the buttons of his white button-down.

"Oh. Hm. I don't know what to say about that." She tucked his handkerchief into her pocket absentmindedly, looking over his worrisome expression. "I guess I might have been, a little." 

He nodded, refusing to look her way. She noticed his mouth was twisting in a manner she had never seen before.

"I see." He finished. Just then, there was a noise coming from the porch. Wings flapped and there was a lovely owl fluttering to rest on a nearby roost, parchment in beak.

After retrieving it, Draco read it over silently. Apparently the same boy from the grocers before was keen on meeting them both for coffee to talk. This whole thing really was becoming much more than he could chew.

Hermione was pulling the tiny pan out of the oven with a large oven mitt. The sight was comical, until she dropped it on the open door of the stove. In an attempt to right herself, she reached to grab the pan with one mitt and one bare hand. 

It wasn't long before she let out a squeal and nearly threw the tiny pan onto the counter for cooling.

He tutted, coming by with a cool cup of water from the tap and setting it next to her. "That boy wants to meet with us tomorrow at 10:30." He spoke, eyeing her fingers as she dunked them into the water.

"Ugh, that's lovely..." She sighed, resting her head on the oven mitt in her hand. It seemed to serve as a lovely pillow. 

With her eyes shut, he felt something akin to fear rise in his own throat. He swallowed it back down, turning to check the timer. Twenty minutes remained. He could hear every single tick of the clock, and his heartbeat followed suit. His eyes returned to her once more after hearing her sigh a bit.

"Want a taste?" She asked. He was immediately reddening. 

"What?-- Oh! Is the cake already cool?" He sneered inwardly, trying to relax. 

"I'll grab forks."

She nodded, and as he returned with forks, they took turns taking little bites from the tiny sardine-can-sized cake. 

Avoid eye contact they might, but once they had a chance to taste their creation, neither could resist the wordless look of approval they shared.

"Mm!" She said.

"Mmhmm!" He replied.

"Mmmmmmm," she added after another bite.

"Hmm...Mm-Mm!" He almost seemed giddy from the flavors. They couldn't help but smirk at each other from the childish exchange.

The tiny cake was gone, and they were quite pleased.

"So, I think that's the best cake I've tasted." He finally spoke, sans-chewing.

"Isn't it?! Merlin, it's lovely. The moisture! The pops of banana boudin, mm!" She shook her head.

"Well, the large cake is nearly done, I'll let it cool on the counter and prepare it to serve for the event tomorrow." He said, beginning to gather a cake cover and travelling case.

"Oh, you'll bring it?" She was a bit disappointed. 

"I figured I would, since it's already here..." He said, hesitant.

"Well... It makes sense. How about this, we show up together so that everyone knows that we've brought the cake together-- I don't want people thinking that you did this alone, you know!" She felt the swell of pride mix with a bit of paranoia.

He smirked, raising an eye at the implications of such a suggestion. "Okay. That's fine. Meet me at the party, and we'll present it together." He nodded.

They even shook hands.

So the night was coming to a close, and they exchanged a good-night shake. 

"Tomorrow at 10:30, then? That coffee shop near Gringott's?" She asked, arriving at the floo. 

"That's the place." He nodded. 

She nodded. 

After too long of an awkward moment, she turned. "Goodnight, Malfoy," and grabbed some powder. 

"See you tomorrow, then." He added. 

With a whoosh, she was back in her kitchen. It disgusted her... She made note to clean it-- soon.


	6. Mentors

The morning dragged on for Hermione. She had taken some time to go to the gym, her usual routine of some cardio and light yoga to start her day. But by the time she was done, it was only ten. She still had thirty minutes to kill, and she was right around the corner of the coffee shop where everyone was planned to meet.

 

She had time to kill, that was for sure. She debated changing out of her casual leggings and long tunic top, but thought against it when she remembered the book in her bag.

 

So, she'd arrive early and spend that time reading. She went ahead and stepped in, grabbed a coffee that came in a quaint little mug, and sat down at a corner table. She'd move to meet whomever arrived first when they showed up, but for now, she decided to just blend in with the other customers at the cafe.

 

She had read for about ten minutes, fiddling with her hair and kicking her booted, crossed leg, before the book was finished. She sighed, having both hated and adored her speedy reading. She half-debated re-reading the book then and there, but then she saw Draco enter the shop.

 

"Hi, how are you?" He asked a barista. "Could I have a machiatto, please? For here." He added, looking around very briefly before paying the woman.

 

He still hadn't spotted her, and she sunk deeper into the shadows still. Her watch read '10:10', so he was early too.

 

In a rather voyeuristic way, she just watched him. First, she noticed his outfit. He matched the cool weather, with a button-up shirt, sweater-vest and semi-casual slacks. His shoes caught her eye. They were brilliantly shined leather, and a bright tan wing-tip. She'd seen so many men wearing them lately, she could only assume they were back in fashion.

 

No matter how casual he seemed, she forever felt under-dressed. Her belted red tunic was long-sleeved with a belled skirt, but the main reason she wore it was due to it's utter softness.

 

She tugged the long sleeves down over her hands, and they sprang back slightly.

 

He took a seat at a central table, waiting for her of course. She still made no move. Instead, she decided to wait until the young wizard had shown up. For now, she merely watched Draco drinking coffee.

 

He seemed quite... tame. It was quite a sight.

 

By the time the young wizard in question arrived, she had finished her coffee and was walking--quite stealthily--to get a refill. That's when they spotted her.

 

"Hermione!" Draco shouted in such an effortlessly booming way that the entire establishment seemed to stop.

 

He cleared his throat, noticing this, and waved her over before sitting down.

 

Upon approach, the young wizard held out a hand, still standing. "So, we were never formally introduced, I'm Andy Marsters."

 

They exchanged a pleasantry or two, and Hermione finally sat down with her fresh cup of coffee.

 

"So! How are you, Andy?" She asked eagerly, bringing her coffee to sip, not seeing the way Draco was looking her way.

 

“I’m doing great! Since that day I just… sort of decided to sign a new lease on life. My parents found me a good psychic-healer, too! He’s so cool! I think you were in the same class as him, do you remember Cormac McClaggen?” Andy beamed, bouncing his leg.

 

“Oh! Cormac. How _is_ he?” She asked, setting the cup down and putting on a polite, fake, smile. Draco noticed this. He smirked, recalling things he’d heard about Cormac from years ago.

 

“Oh, Mister McClaggen, you say? I recall, Granger, didn’t he court you for a while?” Draco teased smoothly.

 

She looked his way, glaring for a split second before returning her attention to Andy, who was darting his eyes between the two.

 

“Well… yea. He said he knew you, Miss Granger.” Andy offered, but stopped there, considering the odd tension in the air.

 

“Oh, call me Hermione, really… I’m not much older than you.” She insisted.

 

“You’re six years his senior, Granger…” Draco added, sipping his coffee in such a way that the foam gathered on his upper lip.

 

With yet another glare in his direction, she threw a napkin at him, almost rudely.

 

“You guys are so great together… I really wish I could find someone like that.” Andy seemed a bit sullen, toying with his cup.

 

“What?” Draco nearly dribbled coffee from his mouth.

 

“Excuse—No, we’re not together!” She laughed much louder than she intended, and brought a couple fingertips to her lips.

 

Confused, Andy looked up, looking between them once more. “Oh, wow. I feel stupid! Haha. You guys just seem, I don’t know, married or something.”

 

By now, Hermione’s face was a vivid red. She hid it behind her scolding coffee cup, taking a painful gulp.

 

Draco noticed this, grinning her way. “Well, I suppose you’re right. We do act like a married couple sometimes. You know… the kind that kill each other in the end.”

 

He caught her eye at this, and he winked.

 

How very dare he…

 

She was a bit dumbfounded, and her attention was torn from Draco’s face and brought back to Andy.

 

“Haha, well, either way. I just hope I end up with someone. I doubt anyone would be interested, though.” He sighed, shrugging a bit when the two older wizards didn’t think of something to say fast enough.

 

“No matter, I guess it’ll leave me plenty of time to study, right?” He said, optimism in his voice, but sorrow in his eyes.

 

Draco and Hermione exchanged another glance, an empathetic one.

 

“I’m sure you’ll find someone, Andy.” Hermione leaned forward, patting his hand.

 

He accepted the gesture, and went on to talk about the classes he was taking.

 

After giving a bit of their own advice about certain teachers, reminiscing in turn, Andy had to leave.

 

“Feel free to owl me and time, Andy.” Hermione hugged him, her new pseudo-mentee.

 

“Likewise with me,” Draco shook the young man’s hand.

 

“I will! Seeya guys later!” The boy ran off to meet his parents.

 

“Well, that was…interesting.” Draco noted, sitting back down for a spell.

 

“Yes, that… Can you believe that Slughorn is still teaching?!” She was aghast.

 

“Can you believe that he thought we were married?” He asked, eyebrows waggling in that way they did.

 

She shot him a look, and pointedly check her watch. “I should head out, _Husband_ , do tuck the kids in before you leave for the gala.” She teased, standing up and gathering her things.

 

He stood as well, although he had just seated. “Of course, my _darling_ , I’ll have them sorted, and supper ready for when you arrive home.” He played along.

 

“I’ll see you tonight, then,” she said seriously, since it was merely hours away.

 

“See you then, meet you out front, right?” He nodded, tapping the side of his nose.

 

They chuckled, and she shook her head, waving goodbye.

 

But neither of them realized that their little roleplay would linger in their thoughts for the hours to come.

 


	7. Putting on the Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judging by the numbers, this is doing pretty well. I'd love to hear some love from you followers in the comments, though. Thoughts? Comments? Concerns?

As the evening finally set in, Draco was keen on deciding on the most alluring thing to wear. Perhaps 'alluring' was the wrong word, but he wanted to impress everyone in attendance. Although he was unsure as to who exactly would show up-- he knew this much: he, more than anyone, needed to dress to impress. He needed to reclaim his spot among the high society of the wizarding world since his fall from grace.

As he perused through the coats and tails and shirts and slacks, he decided to mix things up from his usual black and white, and reached for a deep blue. It was nearly cobalt, and brought out a hue of his eyes that was almost startling.

He found the matching slacks, ironed them with a quick spell, and laid them out while he wandered about in his towel.

Now, for the shirt, he went with a traditional, crisp white. After all, when they say 'formal', they mean it.

He considered the location of the event, and it was imperative that he both stand out and be respectful. It was being held at the Ministry of Magic.

The last time he had been there it was bedlam. He was on trial, his father was on trial, his entire family was on trial, really.

The only time that he was able to look upon the place without a look of fear or disgust was about two years ago, when he arrived with papers in hand to request a shorter probation period. He had proven himself worthy by handing over proofs of donations, volunteer hours, and a keen interest in spending the rest of his life working in outreach to help those involved in dark magic terrorism.

How, exactly, he ended up on the less-than-bad side of history, he didn't know. Someone up there, at the top of the ministry of course, was looking out for him.

He wasn't sure if that was the elder Weasley in charge, or his employees. Either way, he knew that he needed to thank somebody tonight.

He was just trying to focus on one thing tonight: good impressions.

He glanced at the blue suit, and finally decided on the same shoes he had worn earlier today.

"Casual is the new formal today, isn't it..." He spoke to nobody.

He went on with his dressing, styling his hair slicked back, and even applying a bit of concealer beneath his eyes to make him look a bit less garish.

On the other side of the wizarding world, Hermione was tugging on a dress that she hadn't worn in years, and popping some heels on that were a bit higher than she was used to. Tonight, however, she wasn't interested in looking diminutive in any way.

Like Malfoy, she needed to impress people tonight.

Sure, she already had plenty of good words and connections at the Ministry. However, there were two people vying for a promotion-- she being one of them.

She needed this promotion dearly, if she was interested in streamlining an upcoming legislation that would help things at Hogwarts remain safe and secure.

While security at the school hadn't been an issue for years now, there was a bit of talk of some vigilante dark wizards trying to get their foot in the door and cause some mayhem.

The underground left them anonymous, though, and that was the most worrisome part of it all.

So, for everyone's sake, she needed to be in charge of this security. She even had half a mind to begin working at the school directly in an effort to maintain her hands-on approach.

She did enjoy being in control of important situations.

The stress of even thinking about it, though, was beginning to grate on her. She was sweating through her foundation.

With a groan, she went and washed her face clean of makeup.

Instead of the too-thick foundation that she had previously attempted, she merely blotted her face dry, added some blush, a blood red lip, and a cat eye.

In the years since Hogwarts, she'd grown fond of makeup. A change that her best friends were often commenting on.

"Oh, Hermione, nice.. face." Ron would offer, awkwardly of course. He still didn't know how to compliment a woman, did he...

"Goodness, Hermione, give me your tips!" Ginny would often insist. There were even a couple make-over parties, but Hermione soon learned that she was much better at doing her own makeup than other's.

Back to zipping her dress, she adjusted the long, rich blue affair. It was nearly a cobalt, fitting her with a pencil skirt and three-quarter-length sleeves.

She assessed the look in the mirror, and nodded in approval. Classic.

Her hair, still tight in a towel, was suddenly let loose, though, and fell over in a damp, frizzy mess.

She took her wand and muttered a rather lengthy set of incantations. Slowly but surely, her hair straightened, and straightened, until it was pin-straight.

Her ends were all quite different lengths, and another spell snipped them clean and blunt.

By now, her hair nearly hit her backend. It parted neatly on the side.

She smiled, running her fingers through it confidently and cleanly. there was just something about the way she felt when her hair could flow around so easily.

She just... enjoyed how fun this all was.

She had no other reason to dress up over the past few years. She hated that feeling. More and more she seemed to be growing stagnant in her own fashion. Tonight, that would change.

Tonight, she would make an impression that none of her higher-ups would forget.

Tonight, she would-- She checked her watch--tonight she would be late.

Her shoes were buckled haphazardly, she grabbed her bag, and ran out the door toward the apparition point.

\----

So, there she was, suddenly apparating outside of her workplace. Sure, she could have floo'ed, but that would have gotten her all sooty, and good luck making a landing in the heels she was sporting.

No, she needed to show up outside for another reason, too: meet Malfoy.

The darkness of the night was hard to see through, her eyes trying to find him somewhere nearby.

He had seen her apparate, hearing her ‘pop’ into view. He didn't make a move toward her, though, still tucked into an alcove holding their baking creation.

He watched her adjust her hair over her shoulder, falling silkily. He honestly hadn't known it was her until he noticed the purse she had. It was quite nice, not her usual fare. What caught his eye, though, was that she pulled out a rather large mirror, only to tuck it back into place.

Extension charm, brilliant, that’s her.

That wasn't the only thing he had to admit was brilliant.

Enough time had passed that it felt wrong to keep eyeing her from afar, so he stepped forward, cake in hand.

"Granger, you look great." He offered casually, as if she always looked so great... as if he'd always seen her so great-looking.

That didn't stop her from ogling him, though. Her haw nearly dropped at the sight of him done up.

"Wow, Malfoy, you look so... shiny!" She chuckled, reaching to tug on one of his lapels and inspect the outfit.

"How did you know what color I was going to wear, though?" She glared a little, wondering if this was more than just a coincidence.

"Well, I didn't. Great minds, perhaps?" He took the excuse to look her up and down a bit, but merely appraising her dress. He arrived at her shoes and tilted his head. "You've come unbuckled," he said, pointing to her left shoe.

She made a move to bend and fix it, but he held up a hand. He handed her the cake. 

"No, no, what's a gentleman for, if not to assist a lady with her shoes?" he smirked. 

Coming down to her foot, he got a glance at her shin, and the smooth skin there. He looked to his hands at work. They re-clasped the Maryjane strap and ran his hand smoothly over the area to make sure all was in order. 

"There we go." He stood again, taking the cake from her. 

"Thank you," she breathed. The odd gesture certainly caught her off-guard, and the blush on her cheeks was proof of that.

 "Well, shall we?" He offered his elbow, and they went into the Ministry of Magic together.

 


End file.
